Shades of Odin
by psychochick1
Summary: Sam will do whatever it takes. Spoilers for S3, especially 3x16.


The Hellmouth really was in Cleveland.

Ironic, and slightly irritating since it took Sam over six months to find that little tidbit that geeks had joked about for years was actually true. Six months of frantic research, of chasing down leads that petered out, of hitting one dead end after another. Six months of knowing Dean was in hell. And all that time, the fucking Hellmouth really was in fucking Cleveland.

Sam took a deep breath, shaking away the irritation. That didn't matter now. Only Dean mattered. And Sam was about to get him back.

He had spent the last week preparing himself, readying himself for what he had to do. Whatever it took to get Dean back and get them both out alive, Sam was willing to do it. Now that determination would be put to the test.

With an ominous crack the Hellmouth opened, eerie light dancing along the walls of the chamber as echoing shrieks drifted upwards. Sam didn't hesitate; two quick steps forward and he threw himself over the edge.

Hell wasn't like he'd imagined it. Yes, there was fire and brimstone, but it reminded him more of a giant campout with several bonfires than eternal torment. Chains everywhere, suspended from apparently nowhere, and Sam had to squint through the gloom to duck several of them. So far, not that bad. He'd seen dance clubs that looked scarier. Maybe because he was only in the first level and things got worse down below.

A shadow detached itself from the wall and slithered over, planting itself in his path. Sam stopped and leveled a hard gaze at it. "I want my brother back," he said coldly.

The demon seemed to shiver, then backed away, hissing, "This way." Sam debated whether to trust it, but only for a second. Dropping his hand into his pocket, he gripped Ruby's knife in preparation of a trap and followed.

The demon led him down further into Hell, bypassing chasms that glowed green and orange from something burning deep below. Inching along the narrow path, Sam's feet slipped over the slick rock, inches away from the edge, but he didn't dare look down. He didn't want to know what he was walking on. Other shadows watched from the sidelines, whispering and hissing as he passed, but none dare approach.

Screams seemed to come from all around, but every once in awhile he could make out an individual voice. Sam couldn't help looking for Dean every time he heard one separate out from the cacophony, but the one time he caught sight of what was making that scream, he regretted it. Someone, he couldn't even tell if it was male or female, hung from the chains above, iron links passing around and through the body, strips of flesh hanging down like tattered veils, blood dripping. It shrieked, terror and pain and confusion and loss, a sound so inhuman it made his skin crawl.

Sam wasn't squeamish but the thought of that being Dean, of Dean suffering like that for six months, turned his stomach. He swallowed hard, tried not to gag on the stench of sulfur and rotting flesh and old blood, and followed the guide.

After a while -- hours, days, years? Sam couldn't tell -- the guide demon stopped. It indicated a cavern off to the side. "There. You go alone. He is expecting you." Then it disappeared.

Squaring his shoulders, Sam walked in with his head held high, knife tight in his hand. Whatever it took.

The creature looked human, almost. He had strong Roman features, black hair, piercing violet eyes, and alabaster skin, which should have made him handsome. But there was something off about him, something off kilter that turned that beauty repulsive. Seated on a throne of what looked like flesh stretched tight over bone, he smiled at Sam. "Greetings, Samuel Winchester. I've been expecting you."

"Then you know I'm here for my brother," Sam replied, not letting a trace of his unease get out. He had to be strong, forceful. He was willing to deal, and they knew that, but only by driving a hard bargain.

The demon clicked his tongue. "Sam, your brother made a deal of his own free will. He is paying the price he agreed to. Why should I interfere?"

"Because I'll kill you if you don't." Sam produced the knife slowly, let it hang by his side in clear sight. That wasn't his only weapon, however. In his mind he felt the tickle of power that had grown since he last met Lilith, and from the sudden hardness on his face, the demon felt it too. No doubt word had spread about Sam Winchester during the last six months.

"Do you really think you can get out of here, let alone with your brother, if you do that?" he asked.

"I'm willing to try." Sam flashed him a cold grin. "But I'd rather spare us both the trouble. Hand him over, and we'll both leave. Refuse, and I'll kill anything that gets in my way. Either way, I'm not leaving here without him."

"Who says you're going to leave here at all?" the demon demanded.

"I do." Power flared in Sam, enough to make the demon recoil. "You have the power to let him go. You've done it before."

"True." The demon regarded Sam for a long moment, dark violet eyes flashing. Sam held the stare, refusing to back down. Behind him he heard the screams of the damned mixing with the snarls and whispers of demons, and knew that if he had to fight his way out, it wouldn't be easy.

Whatever it took to save Dean.

Eventually the demon nodded, slowly standing from his throne and walking towards Sam. "Very well. I can release your brother. But it will come at a cost."

"What?"

"Are you familiar with Orpheus and Eurydice?" The demon smiled, baring sharp white teeth. Warily, Sam nodded. "Orpheus could get Eurydice back as long as he led her and didn't look back."

"So, what? Same deal here?"

"Almost." The demon looked off in the distance. "The price for your brother's soul must be paid in flesh and blood." He stepped forward and ran a long pale finger along Sam's cheek. "In exchange for your brother, I want your eyes."

Sam fought down the shiver of revulsion, both at the touch and the thought. He flashed back to Doc Benson, heating a melon baller to scoop his eyes out of their sockets, unable even to blink his taped-open eyelids as the metal came closer. He'd had nightmares for a week after that. If Dean hadn't interrupted . . . .

Whatever it took.

"Dean will be returned alive and whole? In his body?" Sam asked.

The demon smiled. "Yes. Dean Winchester will be returned to you, embodied, ensouled. You will have your brother back. You will both leave here unmolested. In exchange for your sight."

Sam took a deep breath. "Let me see Dean's face one last time."

A grating chuckle escaped the demon. "How sentimental. Very well. We have a deal?"

"Deal." Sam answered.

There was a clanking, scraping noise, then chains dropped down from somewhere above and deposited a crumpled form at Sam's feet. Breath catching in his chest, he crouched down and hesitantly touched a bloody shoulder. Even now, he would recognize his brother anywhere. "Dean?"

Dean turned with a moan. His body was mangled, flesh stripped off in several places, hooks dug deep into muscle and bone. But his face was intact, freckles mingling with blood spatters, dazed green eyes cracking open to look at him. "Sam?" he croaked.

That was the last thing he saw. The next instant there was a blinding white flash, and he felt an excruciating pain erupt in his eyes. He screamed, clutching at his face. It felt like his eyes were burning, liquifying, melting right out of the sockets, perhaps taking part of his brain with them. Something hot streamed down his face, whether blood or tears or what, he couldn't tell.

Right before consciousness faded into all-encompassing darkness, he heard the demon laugh. "It is done."

An unknown amount of time later, Sam gradually became aware again. He was lying on something hard and dusty, sharp objects poking at him through his clothes. He could smell dust and something metallic, could feel the warmth along his back from what had to be sunlight. And he could feel something warm and breathing next to him.

But he could see nothing.

Sam blinked reflexively, trying to clear his vision, but nothing pierced the black. Tentatively, he felt his face, trailed fingers over his nose, eyebrows, then down to his closed lids. Where there had once been reassuring convex pressure, there was nothing. His fingers pushed in a little, feeling the elastic give, then snatched his hands away with his stomach roiling.

Whatever it took.

Swallowing down his nausea and panic at the total blindness, he groped for the body next to him. "Dean?" His voice came out soft and shaky, like a five year old after a nightmare. No response. "Dean!"

The groan that elicited was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. Something shifted in the dust, and he heard clothes rustling. "Sam?" came the faint voice, and Sam felt like crying.

"Dean," he choked, reaching for his brother. He felt soft cotton under his fingers, with solid living flesh beneath. Hands traced the outline of his brother's body, finding the way as eyes no longer could.

Strong hands clutched his, grounding him. With a choked sob, Sam leaned his head forward until it met a muscled shoulder. "Dean, I'm so sorry. Sorry it took me so long. Oh God, Dean, I missed you so much."

Hands grabbed at his face, tilting it up. "Sam, what did you do?" came the horrified whisper, fingers ghosting over his cheeks, as if swiping at nonexistent tears.

Sam smiled. "Whatever it took, big brother. I told you, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you." He let his hands come up to touch Dean's face, trail down to his chest, feeling at his sides. No hooks, no torn flesh from the hellhounds, no exposed bones. No blood. Dean was whole. He was fine, and he was here. That was all that mattered.

It didn't matter that he was blind. He could adjust. As long as Dean was there with him, he could do anything.

Sam couldn't stop touching Dean, not after six months of Hell. Hands relearned the shape and curve of Dean's face, remembering what it had looked like, blind eyes unable to see when the green eyes flashed black.


End file.
